Secret Sisters

by Joy Callaway

  “One more noise and you’ll regret what you’ve done for the rest of your life,” Will hissed. I wanted to interrupt, to stop Will from doing any more harm, but was too frightened to move. A gurgling sound that I took to be laughter came from the floor. “All right. I warned you—”

  “Will, stop!” I yelled, finally finding my voice. I clutched his arm, but he jerked away from me, swearing under his breath.

  “Leave me be, Beth. Turn around.” Will jabbed his hand into his pocket and I saw a flash of silver. He’d always carried his grandfather’s knife, an accessory he’d said was handy in the case he needed to open a package or filet a fish. Of course, he’d been joking, but I’d never thought he would actually use it on someone.

  “You . . . wouldn’t . . . dare.” The voice was breathy. I tried to look over Will’s shoulder, but he elbowed me back. Will turned the knife over in his hand and laughed.

  “Oh, but I will. And I’ll enjoy it.” I watched his hand close into a fist around the blade’s handle. “I saw the way you grabbed her, the way you forced her off the dance floor against her will thinking no one was watching. And then to see you about to—”

  “Stop! Will, I beg you. You’ll regret this,” I said.

  “Turn around!” he shouted at me. I swiveled and gasped. Lily was quivering in the corner of the room.

  I ran to her and hugged her, but she didn’t return the embrace, only folded limply over me.

  “He . . . he tried to . . . to force me,” she stuttered.

  I spun back around to find Will clutching Professor Helms by his vest, his stout figure splayed across the ornate mahogany desk. Thankfully, he’d put the knife away, but blood spewed from Helms’s nose down the side of his face.

  “Are you all right?” I breathed to Lily. As worried as I was for her, I wanted to stop Will.

  “Yes,” Lily said, her tone soft but direct. “Not like this, Will. I’ll not have you ruin your life and make him a hero in the process. He’ll pay for what he’s done. But it’ll be my doing.”

  Professor Helms’s attention drifted from Will to Lily.

  “I knew . . . you . . . wanted . . . me.”

  His sentiments made my skin crawl. Will jerked Professor Helms toward him and then slammed him into the desktop once again.

  “You’re a disgusting imp!” Will’s yell silenced the room.

  “What in heaven’s name is happening in here?” Grant’s voice came from behind me. He entered holding a candelabrum, his glare piercing.

  Professor Helms laughed and wiped at his broken nose, which was already starting to swell into his cheeks.

  “It seems that Mr. Buchannan thought I deserved a beating for dancing with his lovely date.”

  “Is that so?” Grant said, setting the candelabrum on the desk. He looked down at his polished black boots and cracked his knuckles. No one spoke. I could tell by Lily’s silence that as much as she wanted Professor Helms confronted, she also wished to retain her dignity. “Buchannan’s had his fair share of mishaps, that’s for certain, but Iota Gamma men rarely throw a punch unless it’s merited.”

  Grant’s gaze met mine and I knew what he was after—he wanted me to enlighten him if Will had been uncouth in dealing with Professor Helms.

  The professor took advantage of the silence. “The entire faculty knows that Mr. Buchannan should have been expelled last year when he started that fire at the dining hall and—”

  “That’s what I thought,” Grant said. “You have a reputation yourself, you know,” he continued, more loudly. He circled in front of Will and Helms, scuffing the floor as he went as though the professor wasn’t worthy of his attention.

  “That’s correct. A reputation of honor for the work I’ve done here.”

  “No,” Grant contradicted. “I’ll not humor you with the details. I’m sure you know what I mean. Miss Carrington, will you close the door?”

  I complied and Professor Helms shrugged free of Will’s grip.

  Will snatched the back of his vest and yanked him backward. “You’re not going anywhere.”

  “Stop,” Lily said. “I’ve tired of this. I’d like to move forward with my evening. Just let him go.”

  “No. What are you saying?” I knew she’d always been one to deal with things on her own, to brush them under the rug. Perhaps it was only that she was used to defending herself because she hadn’t had a family to count on. But she had me now, and I wouldn’t permit Professor Helms to go free. Not after what he’d done.

  “I’ll not.” Will’s blood-streaked fingers tightened around the professor’s vest.

  “Miss Lilian Johnston, is it?” Grant asked.

  Lily bobbed her head.

  “Good evening, Mr. Richardson. It was lovely of you to come to my defense, but truly I’m all right. Now please, let’s enjoy the ball.” She started to walk past him out of the room, but Grant interrupted.

  “Miss Johnston, I can’t let you go until you tell me what’s happened. I swear to you, whatever it is will remain in confidence, but I cannot let that man roam free if he’s done something . . .”

  “Tell him, Lily,” Will said. “Tell Richardson. Regardless of your opinion of him, his word is as good as mine.”

  “He found me on the dance floor looking for Will and dragged me in here, where he . . . where he—” Lily stopped short.

  “He tried to ruin her,” Will spat.

  “I did no such thing,” Professor Helms said calmly.

  “He said that if I told anyone about it, he’d fail me,” Lily responded just as evenly.

  “Is that so, Professor?” Grant stepped forward to occupy the space next to Will.

  “Either hurt me or let me go,” Professor Helms muttered. “Get on with it.”

  Grant laughed and backed away from him.

  “I think we’ll do neither. Instead, we’ll be reporting your unfavorable perversion to the board.”

  Professor Helms scoffed, wincing as he did.

  “And you think they’ll believe you? I’ve worked here for nearly twenty years. The word of four children has hardly a chance,” he wheezed, drawing out the word children. “I’ll simply say that you decided to blackmail me in order to spare Miss Johnston’s enrollment. She is failing my course.”

  Grant bent down to Professor Helms.

  “You may have tenure, professor, but they’ll do as I say.”

  Helms turned his head away from Grant, and Lily and I both gasped. The light flooded Helms’s face, and it was clear that his septal cartilage had been severed. Not that he was a sight to behold to begin with, but the man would certainly never look the same.

  “You’re giving yourself an incredible amount of credit, Mr. Richardson,” Professor Helms said finally. “You truly believe that thirty-two of our most prominent alumni are going to forget they have a brain and side with you, a student?”

  Grant paced the room, running his hands along the thick molding inlaid with an ivy pattern in the middle of the wall.

  “You seem perplexed, Helms. Let me enlighten you.” Grant turned back to face him. “Right now, Whitsitt receives the crumbs that fall from the gold-plated tables of both my uncle and my father, totaling, I don’t know . . . fifty thousand per year?” He flicked his right hand in a sweeping motion to illustrate his point. “But this year, on my twenty-first birthday, June twelfth to be exact, I’ll receive my trust fund—a collective contribution from both men. On that day, my uncle and father will cease funding to Whitsitt, leaving the decision to continue the contribution to me. It all depends on if I feel that Whitsitt is still worthy. So, you see, your measly reputation is of no consequence . . . that is, unless they’d like to release, um, let’s see”—he brought his thumb to each of his fingers as he counted—“three-fourths of the staff?”

  Will laughed under his breath and I watched Helms’s face pale.

  “Is that a satisfactory explanation for you?” Will asked. Helms rose to his feet, though Will’s hands were still gripping his vest.
>
  “You’ll have me removed, then?” His voice was hoarse in defeat.

  “I’m a kind man,” Grant said. “And as much as I think you deserve the wrath of hell, something tells me there’s another way to get what I want without your departure leaving a smudge on my conscience.” Grant walked to the desk behind me and picked up the candelabrum. The candles had dwindled to nubs. A few of the flames glowed blue above the silver bases, threatening to extinguish at any moment. “You can either pack your things tonight and resign quietly, leaving no later than noon tomorrow, or we can go through the mess of your good name being smeared—no, submerged—in the muck of what you’ve done.”

  Professor Helms stood there for a moment and then started to walk out of the room.

  “Good riddance,” Lily said, her voice like ice, as he staggered into the hallway.

  “I’ll send a coach around to dispose of him,” Will said to Grant.

  Grant shook his head.

  “Absolutely not. You’ll escort him discreetly out of the front entrance so that none of the guests are alarmed by the state of his face. Last I checked, you hadn’t broken his legs. He can walk. I’ll call a sleigh for the ladies, however. They’ve had quite a night.”

  “I was wrong . . . about Grant and Will,” Lily whispered, as we followed the men down the hallway.

  Grant opened the front door, and a gust of frigid wind chilled me through. Will led Professor Helms through it, not bothering to bid farewell as the man teetered slowly down the frozen drive. I watched him go, round figure slumped forward as he stumbled into the black night, barely hearing Will’s shout for a driver and the jingle of sleigh bells as one complied. I couldn’t understand what had driven Professor Helms to darkness, to the acceptance of a mentality that the harm he dealt others was somehow merited.

  Will went ahead of us, helping Lily across the icy drive to the sleigh. I turned to face Grant, supremely handsome in the lantern light.

  “Thank you,” I said, and he blinked at me.

  “For what?” He extended his arm and I took it. “For doing the right thing? Please don’t.” His hand found the top of mine, shielding it from the chill as he led me around the back of the sleigh. Grant reached to open the door, but I stopped his hand. The outline of the king, the chess piece he’d drawn, was still visible on the window.

  “What is it, Beth?” I could feel the heat of his body, smell the coconut and palm in his hair. I opened my mouth to say something and tried to tear my eyes away from his face, but could do neither. “Thank you for accompanying me this evening,” he said.

  “Perhaps you were right,” I said. “Perhaps the only thing you are to most people is a chess piece, the king, something to be won.” Grant started to distance himself, but I gripped his hand. “Even if that’s what you are, you used it for good tonight. I was wrong about you.” Grant’s hand rose to my neck, fingers tangling in the hair at my nape. I knew I should pull away, but I couldn’t. The wind started to blow, sending the bells on the sleigh jingling and the dry trees groaning, and Grant shifted our locked hands behind my back and drew me to him.

  “And I was right about you,” he whispered. His lips drifted across my cheek, and then they found mine. My body tensed. I couldn’t kiss him. It wasn’t right or proper and I didn’t know how. He stepped forward, pushing me against the cool window, and at once I couldn’t remember my reservations as my mouth opened to the warmth of his. He tasted sweet and bitter at the same time, the wine still on his tongue. His lips broke from mine, but he didn’t back away.

  “I’m truly nothing but a chess piece,” he said. He let me go and opened the carriage door. “But perhaps you’re not playing.”

  10

  Lily hadn’t said a word to me in the coach on the way home. I’d mentioned that we’d received an appointment with the board, but she hadn’t responded. Instead, she’d smiled and taken my hand, turning away from me to gaze out of the window, fully content to listen to the soft sound of the blades cutting through ice and the rhythmic tinkling of the bells. I didn’t know if she’d seen Grant kiss me or not, but if she had, she hadn’t let on.

  In the silence, my mind raced with the implication of that kiss—the kiss I could still feel on my mouth hours later. I was no better than Katherine, no better than Will. I shouldn’t have let Grant kiss me. We weren’t a good match, that much was obvious, and I knew that most of my affection toward him was simply a result of my relief in his disposing of Professor Helms. Even if I was wrong, even if my sentiments ran deeper, it didn’t matter. Grant would never believe in the things I found most important regardless of his feelings for me. That was one of the rules my mother had taught me early on—never be so arrogant as to think you can change someone.

  I sat up in bed and glanced over at Lily’s sleeping silhouette in the dark, her fingers clutched to her quilt. I shivered and mimicked her, pulling my quilt up in turn, but it didn’t encourage sleep. I plucked a book of matches from the top of the dressing table, struck one, and lowered it to the oil lamp. If I couldn’t rest, I might as well be productive. I leaned down to pick up my anatomy book and the latest American Journal of the Medical Sciences, and Lily stirred.

  “What are you doing?” she asked, rubbing her eyes.

  “I can’t sleep, so I thought I might as well study.”

  “If I wasn’t so exhausted, I’d be as restless as you are.” Her brown hair had come loose of her braid, and golden strands gathered in wisps around her face. She patted the spot of mattress next to her, and I wrapped my quilt around me and shuffled over.

  “I feel so wonderfully free,” she whispered, tired eyes alight. “And it’s all because of Will and Mr. Richardson. I’m sorry, Beth. I should have trusted your judgment on enlisting Mr. Richardson’s help.” I forced a smile and she patted my arm. “It was such a wonderful, romantic evening, wasn’t it? Well, besides the latter part of it, of course. Thank God the men came to the rescue.” She smoothed a hand over her plain cotton nightshirt. “I know that this was only my first ball, but you’ve been to others. This one was one of the grandest, wasn’t it?”

  I nodded, thinking back to the few balls I’d attended in Chicago. They’d all been beautiful, in their own way, but nowhere near as elaborate as this one. I could understand why Lily was so enchanted. “Will was so handsome in his tuxedo. I couldn’t stop looking at him. And Mr. Richardson . . . was his kiss as sweet as he is?” In the lamplight, I could see the joy in her eyes. I wanted to tell her about the strength of his arm around my back, and the way his lips seemed to dance against mine as though he’d known exactly how I liked to be kissed, but I didn’t. Our flirtation couldn’t go further. We were too different.

  “Are you all right? Surely you knew that I saw,” she said. “You were right outside of the coach and . . . did you not want him to kiss you?”

  I shook my head.

  “No. I mean, I suppose I did in the moment. It just . . . it wasn’t proper and I—”

  “Oh, Beth. Don’t fret so much. I’m sure most girls on campus have kissed a man,” she said. “And I know that he says he’s against us, but I doubt that he actually is. Mr. Richardson seems like a perfect gentleman otherwise. He helped us get in front of President Wilson, after all.” Her cheeks flushed with the excitement of recent memories. Suddenly, she sobered.

  “Beth, I . . . I was wondering,” she continued, looking away from me. “I want to tell Will that . . . that this wasn’t the first time that Professor Helms . . . I owe him honesty, don’t you think?” She ran her palm across the embroidery of the quilt, picking at a pink thread that had come loose of a bloom. “That is, if we’re to continue courting.”

  Under normal circumstances, I would have gone along with her assumption that an invitation to a ball indicated serious affection, but I couldn’t let her hopes hinge on Will. He wasn’t the courting sort, at least not right now, with his heart still reeling from Miss Cable and flirtations cast far and wide.

  “Are you sure Will would consider t
he two of you courting?” The words were out of my mouth in an instant, and I immediately wished I could take them back.

  “What do you mean?” Lily pushed back against the headboard. “He asked me to the ball. We had a wonderful time. He saved me from Professor Helms.” She glared at me. “Do you not think me good enough for your Will? Do you suppose I’m too ordinary, too poor, too dull?”

  Her face burned. A million responses flooded my mind, but none were satisfactory. I’d insulted my best friend when she needed love and assurance more than anything. Was I jealous of their attachment?

  “I’m sorry, Lily,” I said softly. “Of course you’re good enough for him; you’re the best match he could hope for. You’re kind, beautiful, smart.” She wouldn’t look at me. “My words were misplaced. It’s only that he’s such a flirt right now, and I . . .” I trailed off, knowing stating his reputation would only make this moment worse.

  The truth was that, despite the way they’d been drawn to each other at the ball, Will’s attention rarely lingered, and though I hoped she would be the one to sweep him out of his heartache, I also didn’t want her to be left broken if she wasn’t. She didn’t deserve it. Not after everything with Professor Helms. But, I didn’t want to be wrong about Will’s affections and rob them of happiness. I recalled the way he’d held her while they danced, the easy way they’d interacted. “Lily, please forgive me,” I went on. “You should have seen the way he looked at you tonight . . . I know he feels for you.”

  “No,” she said softly. “He only asked me in the first place because he knew you wanted me there. He’d do anything for you. He’s in love with you.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Lily. We both know that’s not true. We’ve only ever been friends and—”

  “Maybe you’ve never felt anything for him, but I doubt it given how defensive you are about him. And looking back on tonight, the only thing he wanted to do was poke fun at Mr. Richardson and dance next to you,” Lily said, blowing out the oil lamp and getting back into bed. She was being absurd. If he had any regard for me beyond friendship, he’d never shown it.